Bloodlust: Tales of werewolves

coffeeshop. The shop was filled with a blend of people, from nine-to-fivers on their laptops to h

intimidating. He isn't even tall, Katherine thought as he located and walked towards her. What he lacked in height he made up for in a frightening aura. He reached her table and took a seat without asking for an invitation. She wa

ed one of his hands on hers. She stared at his long, tapering fingers on her hand and instinctively flinched, remembering how those fingers had felt on her body, the lines of passion they'd drawn on the mo

e'd worked with him long enough to know that he hated being confronted and she'd done just that by rejecting him. "I'd do anything to be away from you. You're a freak." She spat. She saw his eyes darken with concealed rage and her courage

would you?" He said, then patted her cheek and left the coffeeshop. Katherine watched him walk away through the coffeeshop window and swallowed past the lump of dread in her throat. She took a shaky breath an

words and stood shakily, swaying on his feet. He withdrew a couple of ten-dollar bills from his pocket and slammed it on the bar, way too much money for a couple of shots. Clyde shrewdly grabbed the money and stuffed it in his own pocket. The drunk man stumbled out of the bar and into the cold night air outside. The air seemed to sober him up a little bit as he looked around in search of his car. Sighting it a couple of yards to the left, he staggered towards It, and stopped abruptly as he saw the figure in white leaning calmly against the car. Ghost! His alcohol - soaked brain screamed, but he reminded himself that ghosts only existed in his daughter's fairytales. Taking a few steps, he walked towards the figure and realised within about a metre of his car that the figure was no ghost, only a white-haired man with a whiter moustache in a lab coat. The man was smoking a cigar and the smoke from the cigar sobered Mike even more. "You!" He growled. "What do you want, Einstein?" "Hello, Michael." The man replied, with the cigar bouncing about in his mouth. It didn't seem to restrict his speech. In fact, the man's accent was heavy, like English wasn't his